LIFE SKETCHES OF A JAYHAWKER 25 



near killing some of them, as it was too rich for their weakened condition. 

 We were lucky in being a day behind and profited by their experience. We 

 ate sparingly at first, a little at a time. I know the first night at the ranch 

 I got up two or three times in the night and roasted me a piece of beef. In 

 fact I couldn't sleep from thinking how good the meat was. It did taste 

 good, though our stomachs craved fat more than anything else, even castor 

 oil tasted fine. This ranch lies on the Santa Clara River, and is called San 

 Franciscita, and was owned by Del Vule. The manager was Jose Saluzur, 

 and in fiction the ranch was the home of Ramona. 



We certainly were well treated. They gave us everything they had, 

 such as beef, corn, milk, wheat, and chilipeppers and offered us money, but 

 of course we could not accept money, as they had been so kind. Some of 

 the boys had money and offered to pay for what had been furnished us, but 

 they wouldn't take a cent. In fact they were the most hospitable people I 

 ever was among where the country was first settled, but that state of 

 affairs changed after a few years. 



After being at this ranch for a day or two, we thought we would have 

 a bath in that beautiful stream of water. Upon removing my clothes I was 

 actually frightened. I found I was nothing but a skeleton. My thighs were 

 not larger than my arm, and the knee joints were like knots on a limb, and 

 on my hip bone the skin was calussed as thick as sole leather and just as 

 hard, caused by lying on the hard ground and rocks. We were all of us in 

 a pitiful condition, hardly fit subjects for a picture show. After recuperat- 

 ing a few days at the ranch we began to try to make arrangements for get- 

 ting on to the mines. Some went one way and some another, and some 

 came up by water from San Pedro, which was a very wise thing to do. 



But we all did not have the money to do that, and I was one of that 

 number, so, instead of starting up the Coast via San Buena Ventura, I went 

 to Los Angeles to take a start from there. I was only there three or four 

 days, when I found an opportunity to come along with a couple of men who 

 were buying up pack mules. I could travel with them if I could furnish my 

 own saddle and help drive the mules. So I paid four dollars for a saddle 

 tree, or what the Spaniards call a busta. This left me with only a dollar. 

 Everything went well enough until we arrived at Santa Barbara. I had been 

 in the habit of taking the mules out to graze every morning as soon as it 

 was light enough, so at Santa Barbara I did the same thing, but it happened 

 to be a cold stormy morning, and rain poured down. I had no coat, just a 

 woolen shirt, and no vest, and the mules were very hard to manage. They 

 wanted to travel with the storm in spite of all I could do. Time went on 

 and I kept getting colder and colder. Ten o'clock came, and no relief party 

 hove in sight as had been the custom up to that time, but I supposed It 

 was a little too stormy for them to turn out. And the longer I waited and 

 the more I thought of it, the madder I got. I gave the mules a good scare, 

 and they went a flying, and I turned and broke for shelter. By this time 

 we had drifted with the storm about four miles, and I had to face the storm 

 going back. When I entered the dining room where the pair were smoking 

 their pipes by a good warm fire, the first greeting I got was "Where are 

 those mules gone to?" Then I let loose on them and don't know what I told 

 them, but it wasn't anything very pretty. There was a large butcher knife 

 lying on the table near by and I kept my eye on that and was careful to 



